« August 2006 | Main | October 2006 »
September 29, 2006
Back Sunday
I took the week of July 4th off -- two holidays and ostensibly three vacation days -- but then I did work for at least a couple of hours on each of the three 'vacation' days. And while I was in Europe this June, I took a couple of days to see the cities I was visiting... but mostly that was on weekends, and on the weekdays while I was there I always at least logged on and did a little work.
So today, Friday September 29, is the first day in 2006 where it's a work day and yet I will not be logging on or doing any kind of work whatsoever. I guess that makes this my first real vacation day of the year.
The Girl and I are taking a long weekend in the Berkshires, to do a little hiking, a little dining, and to just get some alone time away from the madding crowds of home. So I'm done blogging until Sunday night (which is just as well, as once again I am approaching bandwidth limits anyway). I do have a lot to say about the Terrell Owens situation (and especially his jackassed idiot publicist!), and of course about most of everything else going on in the world... but it'll have to wait.
Because as of right now, 9:42 am.... I am on vacation. See you crazy kids in 60 hours.
P.S. Don't forget to support BoobieThon -- with a donation of money, a photo, or both. The charity is the Susan G. Komen Foundation, the cause is fighting breast cancer, and the idea is fun.
Posted by Christopher at 09:35 AM | Comments (0)Yet Another Reason To Hate Football
Cuzin Jose asked me to play fantasy football this year; so did friends from work. I declined in both cases. I declined because I am sick of football, sick of the NFL, sick of the kind of no-character idiots who are allowed to play the game now. And I'm not even talking about Terrell Owens yet.
Detroit Lions wide receiver Roy Williams is the latest NFL player who's made my "Will Somebody Please Put A Helmet In His Kidneys And Get Him The Hell Out Of Here" list. He's a stupid idiot who's got no concept of the sport and who really needs to be just clocked upside the head with, say, a diesel train.
The Lions' Roy Williams apparently doesn't play to win the game. He'd rather strike a pose.
Williams' celebration after his first catch of Sunday's game against the Bears drew ire from the Chicago crowd and had Detroit Free Press columnist Mitch Albom scratching his head. When Albom asked Williams why he celebrated a reception with his team already trailing by two scores, Williams responded, "I celebrate first downs all the time. I'm not gonna stop that. I'm an exciting player. If I do something exciting, I'm gonna show my actions."
Albom responded, "But you were losing, 10-0."
"What does that mean? ... That means nothing to me. The score means nothing," Williams told Albom.
I swear to you, this is why I hate football. This is what the NFL is now: a bunch of me-first spoiled punkz who don't care about the game, about winning, or about the fans... as long as they get to look good, show off, and get their bling, they're happy.
Punks like Williams are an insult to the integrity of the game. His teammates ought to shove his head down a used toilet and flush for 30 minutes straight... and then they should get out of the way and let men like Jim Brown, Joe Greene, and Mike Ditka have their shots at him to teach the little beeeotch something about professionalism, about team, and about what the sport is really about.
You want to know why I hate football and will never go back to being a football fan? It's punks like this jerk.
Posted by Christopher at 09:14 AM | Comments (3)Preach On, President Carter!
Okay, so maybe he wasn't the most successful president we ever had. But he's been a champion of the ideals that America is supposed to stand for in the world for two decades now, and he's the best example in history of what an ex-President of the United States can be. Yesterday in Nevada, former President Jimmy Carter hit the nail so directy on the head that I am unable to add anything to it. I'll just post his words verbatim... because the man got it right. Sadly, angrily right.
"I've been deeply embarrassed as a civil rights advocate that we have had the American government stand convicted around the world as one of the greatest abusers of civil rights," said Carter, the 2002 winner of the Nobel Peace Prize... "What has happened the last five years has brought discouragement and sometimes international disgrace to our great country," he said.
"What has happened in the last five years has been a radical departure from what all previous presidents have done, including George Bush Sr., and Ronald Reagan and Gerald Ford and Richard Nixon and Dwight Eisenhower," the former president said, listing the last five Republican presidents.
"We have never before in this nation had a policy of pre-emptive war, which means we go to war against people not because they are a danger to our country, but because our government feels another leader will not comply with the demands that come out of Washington," he said. As a result, the U.S. mounted "an ill-advised invasion of Iraq based on false premises, false statements and this has been the major international debacle that our country has brought on Americans," he said.
Carter, who also planned a speech Thursday night at a fundraiser sponsored by the Washoe County Democratic Party, said when the United States entered Afghanistan after the terrorist attacks on Sept. 11, 2001, the country was "perhaps as united as we have been since the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor in 1941."
"We also had the unanimous support of every country on earth. ... Every country pledged to the United States, `We will stand by you and be a partner with you in a unanimous commitment to root out terrorism around the world,'" he said. "We frittered that away. We gave it up by going into Afghanistan in the beginning and then in an ill-advised departure from the war on terrorism, we decided to invade Iraq and we let Al-Qaida build up its strength and we let Osama Bin Laden escape."
Not sure you're going to find a more "there it is" list of the crimes George W. Bush and his idiotic neocon regime have perpetrated against the American image around the world. Preach the Truth, Brother Carter.
Posted by Christopher at 08:59 AM | Comments (0)September 27, 2006
RockStar: Curmudgeon
So now that everyone's had their fun at my expense after seeing the photos of the big show the other night... how was it for real? It was doggone fun, man. I'd forgotten how much I love being on stage -- not to talk about business, but to rock out and have some fun.
I'll admit, before we went on I was... well, nervous isn't the right word. "Mortified" might be more like it. I spent the day trying to talk as little as possible in order to preserve my voice, but when I did speak, words like "unmitigated disaster" frequently came out. I was concerned about my voice -- a five hour rehearsal on Saturday kind of made mincemeat of it -- and concerned about playing in front of people I will have to work with. (If you're playing a bar, the crowd is anonymous; if you suck, you'll never see them again, so there's less pressure.) But after an excruciating wait and a sound check/short rehearsal, it was time. Now or never. As we were being introduced, I slipped on my shades and leather jacket, going for the Bono look and figuring that it would be easier for me to do this if I were in character as a rock star... and we went on, to the empathetic cheers of our colleagues (who I think, despite not knowing what to expect, certainly appreciated the extent to which we were putting ourselves out on the line). I went through our rehearsed stage banter to open, still shaking like a leaf inside -- I don't remember this being so hard! -- and then we kicked into the opening number, Neil Young's "Rockin' In The Free World."
The band was tight -- we'd rehearsed this one a lot and they were "on" -- and as I started the first lines, there were a few cheers from the crowd, cheers that you could hear really meant "hey, these guys don't suck as bad as we thought they would!" I couldn't see a thing past the front row; the lighting for the stage was pretty much in my eyes and I couldn't tell how the audience (about 40 people, less than I'd thought; fewer people stuck around after dinner to hear us than I thought would) was reacting. But I was starting to have a little fun... and then... I stepped on the mic cord, and it came unplugged from the mic. Dead air. Me singing and not even being able to hear myself over the band. I just kept on singing, and grabbed down for the cord, plugged it back in, smled and shouted "Live TV!" and then went back into the song right in time...
And the audience went nuts. (Well, as nuts as 40 people can get, anyway.) We'd had an accident less than 45 seconds into our first song, and just plugged through it... and our colleagues recognized that we were up there to play, not to goof around. And they started to get into it. I couldn't see, but I could hear -- and people were shouting and "whooo"ing and "yeah!"ing -- and all of a sudden the butterflies were gone. All at once. And in my head, I no longer looked like a desk jockey in a costume, and I wasn't straining to hit the higher notes; in my head, I was back on stage at age 20, thin, in tune, and in command of my audience. And the switch flipped in my brain and the performance was ON from that point. The audience weren't my friends and colleagues... they were just 'the audience,' and they were digging on it. This was going to be fun!
We finished "Free World" and went into the opening strains of "Sweet Child O'Mine," and the audience roared again -- surprised we were tackling tougher songs and not just playing derivations of Johnny B. Goode ("three chords and the truth" as Bono once sang). And when the lead guitar intro ended and the rest of the band came in behind him, I think that was the moment when I just let go and really got into character, hopping around and 'dancing' (to the extent that anything I do could ever be called 'dancing') and acting like a front man. The audience ate it up, too - they were really cheering us on.
After Sweet Child, we did "I Will Follow" by U2 -- probably my strongest song because it's wholly within my range and I don't have to stretch for any of it. By the time it was over, I was having the time of my life. "I Wanna Be Sedated" came next, the audience was having fun, and even when I couldn't hit the long note at the end of our next song, Cheap Trick's "Surrender," it didn't seem to bother anyone. We did an extended version of "All Along The Watchtower" that really set the audience going, because we let the guitarists run with that song -- and the lead guitarist in particular -- my card playing buddy -- can really shred. We left the stage for 20 seconds after that, playing at the whole 'encore' thing... then came back on to do "Red House" by Jimi Hendrix. I turned up the growl in my voice on that one and did my best to sound like a grizzled old blues man... and the audience roared. I never saw it, but I am told that through the whole show, there were people standing in the back of the auditorium and dancing -- and never so much as when we did our last song, "I Saw Her Standing There" -- which is really fun because it lets me do a little call-and-respond with the audience.
When we finished and I did the traditional "Thank you (town)! You guys have been great - drive home safe, good night!"... the audience was actually shouting for more; they didn't want us to leave the stage. We had to explain "we've been a band for two weeks, we only know 8 songs." And then they all came up to the stage and shook our hands and raved and told us they'd really had fun. And wow, did that feel good. Were we great? Not even close. But were we better than anyone -- including ourselves -- thought we would be? Absolutely.
Three notes that made me feel really great about the night: one colleague, a former manager of mine from back in the day, sent me a note to say that she's been going to company meetings for 25 years and has never had so much fun. Cool. Then another good friend wrote to tell me that he'd been surprised to be impressed -- "you can carry a tune, have some genuine stage presence, and really seemed to be having fun while knowing what you're doing." Even cooler -- this is one of my closer friends, but he wasn't saying it to be friendly; he meant it, and I knew it.
And finally.... our boss's boss's boss left a big meeting long enough to come over to hear us -- the Big Cheese himself was in the house. When we saw him afterwards and asked him how long he'd been there, he remarked dryly, "Long enough." Which was funny, if unnerving. But Tuesday morning when I came in to the office, his right hand person pulled me aside... turns out, there's another big gathering on October 11, and the boss has asked that we play that event too. Obviously, he doesn't think we'll embarrass him or ourselves.
We really were all right. And we have one more show to do before we sleep.
All I can say is, rock and roll, man.
Posted by Christopher at 07:39 AM | Comments (5)September 26, 2006
Hooray For Boobies, 2006
As we all know, I am a fan of breasteses. (Aren't we all?)
But take the raging hormonal juvenile teenager out of the Mudge and get serious for a moment... breast cancer isn't a giggling matter. It impacts millions of women in the United States alone -- more than 212,000 cases will be diagnosed this year. Thankfully, 87 of every 100 women diagnosed will become five-year survivors; but that still means that 13 of every 100 women diagnosed -- more than 26,000 in 2006 alone -- will eventually succumb to the disease. It's not just a female disease -- men can get it too -- but even when it afflicts women, it affects us as men; these women are our wives, girlfriends, mothers, daughters, sisters, and our friends. The disease will eventually touch almost all of us... personally, in the last two years I have had a member of my extended family and two good friends battling the disease. Fighting breast cancer is personal to me. And I suspect to many of you as well.
Every autumn there is a unqiue effort in the blogosphere... a chance for us all to both celebrate breasts and the women to whom they belong, and to contribute to the fight against breast cancer. The BoobieThon has raised more than $25,000 for the Susan Komen Foundation, including more than $9000 last year. This year, the Boobie-Thon begins on Sunday, October 1, and runs through Saturday October 7. I'm proud to be supporting the effort again this year.
The concept is simple; bloggers of all genders (but as you'd expect, most of them are women) submit 'rack shots' -- either clothed or unclothed -- to the site, in an effort to draw attention to the cause and solicit donations. If you just visit the site without donating, you get the clothed shots. For a $50 donation, you get the full glory views (anonymous, of course -- no faces are allowed). And far from being mere "cheap thrills" (and be honest... aren't cheap thrills half the fun of the Internet anyway?), this week-long celebration of amateur bodies of all shapes and sizes raises money for a tremendously worthy cause. I encourage all of you, whatever your gender or persuasion, to support the effort with a donation -- of your money, of your rack, or both -- and help them get to $10,000 this year.
I'll be sending in a photo along with my money -- let's face it... I probably can give a few of the girls a run for their money ;-) -- and I encourage all of you to do the same. Again, all juvenility and copping a peek aside, this is for a worthy cause, and I urge you to donate to BoobieThon 2006 in the name of a woman in your life -- whether she's been afflicted with breast cancer or not.
Posted by Christopher at 09:42 PM | Comments (3)Pets
For those of you who have pets at home, give 'em an extra cuddle, pet, milkbone, treat, nibble, whatever it is you give them when they're good or when you just want to give them some luvin's. Do it in memory of Eden and Hawk's dog, Jake, who crossed Rainbow Bridge last night and will be watching over his family from somewhere else now.
I'm a total softie for animals, as anyone who's read me for any length of time knows. I love all animals, my charity donations are almost all for animals (with one exception, see the post coming a little later tonight), and generally I'll have a soft spot for any animal from chipmunk to whale. So reading this entry really got to me... and J.D. Salinger, the Curmudgeonly Cat, got extra treats and cuddles tonight as a result. Godspeed, Jakedog.
Posted by Christopher at 09:29 PM | Comments (2)Sex, Drugs, and Rock & Roll
Cheap sunglasses: $12. T-shirt with vaguely impish rock star words ("By reading this you have given me brief control of your mind"): $11. Black Levis 505 jeans bought especially for the gig: $29. Singing in front of a live crowd again, even if I don't have the range I used to have anymore, and hearing people cheering (if even out of pity!): priceless.
More coming later, but I really need to get to work. My main thought after seeing the photos from the show, however, is that I will never eat again. Ever. I look like I ate one of the amps.
Posted by Christopher at 08:30 AM | Comments (12)September 24, 2006
Pop Quiz: Answer
A week ago I gave you a list of songs and asked what they had in common. A couple of you took a stab at guessing the commonality. (Doc doesn't count though, because he knew.) And now, I'll tell you.
It's a set list.
But not just any set list. It's the set list for the impromptu and one-night-only band that I'm going to be fronting tomorrow night -- thus making good on one of my new year's resolutions. See, there's this real big meeting at work tomorrow, with guests from all over the country and in a couple of cases the world, followed by a reception ... and the executive in charge of the meeting thought it would be fun to have a band playing the reception or shortly after it. He knew that one of the guys on his team is an accomplished guitar player, and asked the guy to put together an impromptu band to play the "gig," figuring that he probably would have known of other office workers in the company who used to play in bands or at least played an instrument -- and so he did. As it happens, this guitar player is also one of my card playing buddies... so guess who got tapped to play front man?
It's going to be my first live gig in 17 years. A lot has changed since then: back then I could have looked passable in spandex if I'd really have wanted to (thankfully I never took that much leave of my aesthetic senses); today, I resemble Bachman Turner Overweight. Back then, I could hit Axl Rose's notes, Sebastian Bach's notes, and even some Robert Plant ones; today I have a range somewhere close to Michael Duncan Clarke's. Back then, we were playing Guns N Roses songs because it was what was current and cool; tomorrow night we're playing one because our audience will share our nostalgia for it.
We're not going to be great, by a long shot; we've had all of 16 days' notice of the gig, have been a band for only 15 days, and have had all of two rehearsals. We're all aging rockers who make the Stones look positively boy band-esque as far as age and energy. Our adopted name -- the Hip Replacements -- reflects our desire to tap the past glory of Minneapolis alt-punk bands of the 80s, to be self-referentially and self-mockingly cool, and our acknowledgement of our ages. And playing in a barely rehearsed band that's existed for two weeks in front of 100 or so of our professional colleagues lands somewhere between being in public naked and catching your parents doing the nasty on the Most Mortifying Things That Could Ever Happen To You Scale.
But you know what? It's gonna be damned fun fronting a band and playing to a crowd again. I'm going to ham it up like I'm onstage at Madison Square Garden. And if this is the last live gig I ever play, I'm retiring while having fun.
I've been threatened by my bandmates with death, destruction, appendage amputation, and having my unkickables mule-kicked by a sumo wrestler if I do something stupid like post video or place it anywhere that anyone could access it. So unfortunately, no video or mp3s will be made available (while I personally don't mind being embarrassed on my own blog in the name of amusing commentary, I do and will respect the wishes of my bandmates to remain, shall we say, anonymous.) But I'm planting friends in the audience who will (I hope) take a few photos that keep my friends' identities cloaked while giving you all something to laugh at... shots of Mudge pretending he's Bono while looking instead like Pavarotti. :-)
My first live gig since 1989.. with a band that's existed for two weeks and rehearsed twice... in front of a hundred people I have to work with every day. This, friends, could be interesting. Wish for me that I break a leg. No seriously... somebody break my leg. Please.
Posted by Christopher at 10:24 AM | Comments (7)September 22, 2006
Places We Don't Need Assistance For $200, Alex
I was remarking to my friend Jennifer at an event last night that I've kind of been losing my curmudgeonly persona lately... with everything going so well in both my professional life and my personal life these days, 2006 is actually shaping up to be my Best Year Ever -- and it's pretty hard to be grouchy at the world when you're on top of it.
Thankfully, not 10 minutes later, I found something to rant about. We were at a work event at an upscale restaurant in Manhattan, one that -- while fabulous in every other respect -- fell victim to the New York restaurant curse.
Restroom attendants.
It's not just the upscale places that have restroom attendants these days... just about every place you go has them. And I hate them. Oh, I'm sure they're nice people, and that their mothers love them very much. I'm sure that they go home at night and pet their kittens and walk their puppies and take leftover food to orphanages. But I don't need them, and I have no place for them in the world.
Even in good times... do we really need someone to turn on the faucet for us? Do they believe that running water is such a novelty to us that we're not able to handle turning it on? I'm reminded of the old Phil Hartman character on SNL, the Defrosted Caveman Lawyer: "Your world frightens and confuses me." Apparently, this is the esteem in which restauranteurs have for their guests. And do we really need people to apply two squirts of soap to our hands for us? What if I wanted more? What if I am Howard Hughes-like in my aversion to germs and feel the need to overindulge in soap? Or is this all a cost-cutting measure designed to save on soap supplies -- because you haven't got enough money in the place after having charged me $12.50 for an appetizer?
And that's on good days. It's on bad days that the restroom attendee phenomenon becomes particularly galling and embarrassing. What if you're not feeling well? Do you really need someone in the room who saw you come in just fifteen minutes before (and he couldn't have missed you, because he gave you two squirts of soap when you were there), making him think that either you have a queasy stomach or you're doing lines of cocaine? Do we really need someone in there to overhear your lactose intolerant system dealing with the effects of the banana milkshake you unwisely selected while having a late lunch with Beav before a work meeting earlier that afternoon?
I'm just saying.
Posted by Christopher at 07:34 AM | Comments (5)A Tale Of Two Reporters
It was the best of sports. It was the worst of sports.
Two reporters doggedly pursue a story involving a sport's biggest name, a player closing in on the most hallowed record in all of sports, yet who cheated to get there, knowingly and willingly taking performance enhancing drugs and illegal steroids. They do a thorough job of reporting, they get their facts right, and even the President of the United States tells them that they've done a good job in their crusade to get the story right and expose the player for the cheat that he is.
One baseball player perjures himself in front of a federal grand jury, directly lying and telling the jury that he has never knowingly taken steroids despite having been on a regimen of steroid cocktails for the past three years. He's arrogant, aloof, practically dares the government to come after him, and continues to treat every single person in baseball -- from teammates to reporters -- as unwelcome cockroaches on the white carpet of his life.
And yet it's the reporters who are going to jail.
Not only is this a mockery of the spirit of the law, it's a continuation of the war against the press that's been fought by the US government for the past six years at least. (It's U.S. attorneys who chose to bring charges against the reporters.) Investigative reporters need sources to do their work and expose corruption or wrongdoing. Those sources need to be confidential in some cases, and when they are confidential those sources need to believe that their cooperation with the journalists will never be revealed. If that trust chain is broken, investigative reporters will not be able to do their job. (Perhaps that's what this government really wants.) This matters to you whether you care about baseball or not; curtail investigative reporting by continuing to throw reporters in jail, and that reporting dries up. And as ESPN's Wright Thompson wrote,
One of those stories might be about a plant polluting your neighborhood or a corrupt school district that is supposed to be educating your children.
The message sent by yesterday's sentencing is clear. Commit wrongdoing, and you can escape consequences. Expose wrongdoing, and you'll be punished. "Nobody is above the law," U.S. District Judge Jeffrey White said in sentencing Mark Fainaru-Wade and Lance Williams.
Nobody, it seems, except for Barry Bonds.
Posted by Christopher at 07:26 AM | Comments (0)Sour Grapes Make For Lousy Whine
Earlier this summer I wrote about the newfound respect I'd discovered for the Oklahoma University football program and its coach, Bob Stoops, for what I perceived as a surprising display of integrity. I thought I'd finally observed a coach and a program worthy of support, who understood the proper place of football in the college world and displayed uncommon valor in its conduct. I was wrong -- couldn't have been more wrong, actually -- and I take it all back.
Oklahoma lost a game at Oregon last weekend on what was, by all accounts, a horribly blown call by a Pac-10 official (for the uninitiated, the Pac-10 is Oregon's conference, so the appearance is that an official gave the benefit or a horrid call to the home team at the expense of the visitors.) Oklahoma and its fans have every right to be unhappy about losing a game they probably should have won simply because of a lousy referee's call.
But Oklahoma's reaction has gone beyond being unhappy. They're flat out whining like spoiled three year olds, throwing a tantrum for the ages remarkable for both its immaturity and its hypocrisy. Not only have there been the requisite death threats against the referee (which are inevitable when you combine brain dead rednecks, alcohol, and sports), but Oklahoma has so far: demanded a forfeit, sent letters to commissioners demanding that the loss not be placed on its record, threatened to cancel all of its scheduled games aganst Pac-10 teams. In other words, if you don't play the way we want to play and let us win, we're taking our ball and going home. Worse yet, many midwestern journalists are actually encouraging this pity-party whiny behavior with indignant columns.
Unfortunately, bad calls -- even ones that cost teams victories -- are part of sports. Ask St. Louis Cardinal fans about Don Denkinger some time. Or Atlanta Brave fans about Kent Hrbek's wrestle-tag of Ron Gant in the '91 World Series. Or Utah Jazz fans about Michael Jordan blatantly pushing off of Byron Russell in the '98 NBA finals. Or Baltimore Oriole fans about the hideous RIch Garcia/Jeffrey Maier call that allowed the Yankee$ to cheat their way out of the 1996 ALCS. Or English soccer fans about Maradona's "Hand of God" goal in the '86 World Cup. Or Minnesota Viking fans who remember Drew Pearson blatantly shoving Nate Wright to the ground in the '75 NFC Playoffs before catching a Hail Mary pass from Roger Staubach, without being called for interference.
Sometimes, Oklahoma sports' teams don't lose because of bad calls; they win games because of them. Referees screwed Texas Tech's basketball team out of a victory over Oklahoma a couple of years ago. No OU boosters were screaming about forfeits and the integrity of the game back then. I have never agreed with Bobby Knight about anything... but this week, when he rightfully reminded Sooner fans of their hypocrisy, I agreed with everything he said.
Bad calls happen in sports, you spoiled, whining children. Sometimes they even cost your team big games. But they're still part of the game -- every game -- and the OU reaction has been embarrassing at best and bordering on pathetic at worst. Even the OU president is in on the act, dashing off angry notes to Big 12 commissioners and acting as if a college president's biggest job is not the academic pursuits of its students, but protecting its football program. It's a blight on the state of colleges today, and the Oklahoma reaction is a reminder of everything that's wrong with college sports today. Oklahoma and its fans don't have the integrity I thought they did; instead, they're pathetic whiners -- and I hope they lose every remaining game.
Posted by Christopher at 06:49 AM | Comments (2)September 20, 2006
Randomly Random Randomness
Sorry about the slight lack of posts lately; between the baseball game Monday night (The GIrl's dad's company has a Shea skybox... and no, that fact has nothing to do with my spending time with her... occasional access to baseball tickets is purely coincidental!), needing to catch up on sleep last night, and just a busier life than usual lately, it's been hard to have time to write and even harder to think of things to write about. So here's a collection of random and unrelated thoughts to tide things over.
1. Peter Gammons is back. Welcome back, Peter. Glad to have you back and writing... you were missed, and your return is well met.
2. Baseball Rocks. There's classic pennant races in the AL Central and for the NL wild card... and then there's the NL West, which treated us to one of the most classic moments of this decade or perhaps even this generation on Monday night. The Dodgers' feat of back-to-back-to-back-to-back home runs, followed by a walkoff home run by Nomar Garciaparra in the 10th inning, was a perfect capper to a great game and a classic series. If you saw that and weren't caught up in the adrenaline and amazement of the moment, then I don't think you have a pulse.
3. Keith Olbermann for President. Or at least Congress. I swear, the more this guys writes or appears on TV, the more I like him. His blog/televised commentary from Monday, demanding that George W. Bush apologize to the American people for saying that "it's unacceptable to think," is yet another brilliant slapdown of the Wonder Chimp and his wannabe totalitarian regime. The guy's one of the few left in journalism who hasn't become a cowed-by-the-conservative-machine eunuch. And he's pointing out like few others just what George W. Bush and this regime are really all about.
4. Penis mightier than the sword The world's first successful, er, member transplant has been reversed due to what doctors called "severe psychological disturbances" suffered by the patient and his wife. The mind boggles at all the possiblities for jokes about what might have caused the psychological disturbances... Perhaps they should have contacted this lady in Germany. I'm not sure if this is the funniest story of the year, but it definitely has the funniest quote of the year:
She reportedly told police: "It was his best asset and gave me so much pleasure. I wanted to pickle it for eternity - he would have wanted it. We called it his joystick. I wanted it to remember him by."
"I wanted to pickle it for eternity." No higher praise ever given for a man, methinks.
Back soon with some real entries. I promise.
Posted by Christopher at 06:56 AM | Comments (1)Curses! Oiled Again!
Dick Cheney gave a speech on Tuesday in which he refused to commit the current US regime to any action that might help the floundering US automotive industry. “Nobody can sit in office in Washington D.C. and decide to create prosperity,” Cheney said.
Oh really, DIck? Seems that you guys sat in an office in Washington from 9/12 onward and decided to create prosperity for your old company and for the oil industry in general. (Speaking of that, don't think that we haven't noticed that, just in time for the election season, gas prices have mysteriously gone down and could possibly drop back to $2 a gallon in parts of the US. Oh, but that's unrelated to the elections and to Dick Cheney being in a position of power and influence and the oil companies' desperate need to keep Republicans in charge, now isn't it?
I'll be the first to acknowledge that the US auto industry has its issues, many of its own making. And the government can't be in the business of propping up businesses that aren't competitive anymore. But the US auto industry does employ hundreds of thousands of people, and is a cornerstone to the economy of one of its largest cities. As the UAW president recently said, if Bush has time to meet with Taylor freaking Hicks, he ought to have time to meet with auto industry representatives to at least discuss the auto industry. And Cheney ought to stop being so transparently disingenuous in his public comments. "Can't decide to create prosperity?" This from the guy who helped design and execute the Halliburton War that's enriched the oil companies while harming our overalll effort against terrorism?
I'd say 'it is to laugh,' except that it's really not.
Posted by Christopher at 06:38 AM | Comments (3)September 19, 2006
Just For Corey
I'll save my payroll comments for another time... tonight's a night to congratulate my friend Corey (and all the rest of my Met fan friends) on their division title win. It was a great game. I was there. In a skybox suite. Heh heh.
Congratulations, Met fans. (Sorry about the short vids... I only had my standard camera with me, the most I can take is about 20 seconds at a time.)
Posted by Christopher at 01:46 AM | Comments (2)September 18, 2006
Isn't It Ironic? Don'tcha Think?
It's not quite like rain on your wedding day or a free ride when you've already paid, but it's ironic all the same.
At the United Nations, Bush will try to highlight his goal of spreading democracy.
The man who's authorized warrantless wiretapping, is fighting his own Congress for the right to torture, presides over a political environment in which people are arrested at rallies simply for wearing t-shirts with slogans opposing him, has cracked down on civil liberties in his own country, took office in 2000 by having his brother steal Florida and kept it in 2004 by chicanery in Ohio... is going to the UN to promote... democracy.
In other news, Tom Cruise is going to the American Psychiatric Association's convention to promote healthy ways to deal with mental illness, Britney Spears is going to Lincoln Center to promote opera, and Lindsey Lohan is going to a Baptist convention to promote sobriety.
The next time we want to talk to the UN about democracy, we really ought to send somebody who actually knows even a sliver about it, don'tcha think?
Posted by Christopher at 07:17 AM | Comments (2)September 17, 2006
Folding Like A Cheap Accordion
So what messages have been sent by this week's events?
1. If anyone outside of the Islamic community criticizes the religion or points out the unfortunate truth -- that the faith has been highjacked by those who would use it as an excuse for the exercise or acquisition of power -- there will be indignant and self-righteous anger from the worldwide Muslim community.
2. Many of these protests will turn violent, and Muslim leaders will do little to stop it, claiming instead that the violence is justified because of the "insult" to their religion.
3. The Western world will fold like a cheap accordion like a terrified third grader handing over his lunch money to the playground bully.
I'm trying to keep an open mind, really I am. I'm trying to remember that bin Laden and other Islamic extremists are specifically trying to draw us into a religious "Islam vs. the West" war, and trying to take the kind of reasoned analysis that this article in a Malaysian publication does.
But I'm really growing rapidly tired of the thin-skinned, itching-for-a-fight, even-any-hint-of-criticism-is-grounds-for-killing-somebody attitude that seems to pervade the "Muslim street." I'm getting sick and tired of watching the West limit its own long-cherished and long-valued commitments to free speech and free expression just because if it strays from the "Islam is peace" mantra, there will be riots and demonstrations from Lahore to Damascus, and somebody somewhere's going to be threatened, firebombed, or worse. I'm really starting to feel like the Muslim world's loudly proclaimed desires for peace and coexistence are little more than croccodile tears and "want a Hertz donut?" kind of moves.
I don't want to feel this way. And I'm the kind of westerner -- internationalist in outlook, educated, generally sympathetic to their complaints in the Middle East, and vehemently opposed to the presidency and policies of George W. Bush -- who's most needed by the Islamic world to avoid the kind of closed-minded and eased entry into the kind of Holy War the Wahabi'sts and al Qaeda want. But by behaving like thin-skinned playground bullies, over and over and over again, they're losing me. Fast. And I suspect that if I've finally grown tired of this crap, most Americans did a long time ago.
The way to stop a bully isn't by handing over your lunch money today and having him come back to bloody your nose again tomorrow just because he knows you're afraid of him. The way to stop a bully is to let him know you're not afraid, and to pop him one in the nose if he doesn't understand. You stop a bully by standing up to him. I kind of wish the Pope had remembered that this week. I kind of hope the West doesn't forget it the next time. (And if there's one thing in the world we can be sure of, it's that there will be a next time.)
Posted by Christopher at 12:18 PM | Comments (3)Pop Quiz
What do the following songs have in common:
All Along The Watchtower
I Saw Her Standing There
I Wanna Be Sedated
I Will Follow
Red House
Rockin' In The Free World
Surrender
Sweet Child O'Mine
(What's So Funny 'Bout) Peace, Love, and Understanding?
Answer in eight days. No sooner.
Posted by Christopher at 12:11 PM | Comments (3)September 15, 2006
2000 Flushes -- I Mean Comments
At some point today, assuming somebody comments on one of my posts today, this blog will receive its 2000th non-spam comment since migrating over to Moveable Type in May 2005. (If I were to included the comment spammers, we'd be looking at about 10,000... have I mentioned lately how desperately I want comment spammers to die painful, horrible, torturous deaths?)
2000 times in the past 16 months, someone has been moved to say something about what I've written. True, many times it's my friends taking occasion to take playful public shots at me, and there've been plenty of times where I've take the easy way out by tossing up a YouTube video, adding a sentence or two about it, and then sitting back to let something else drive the dialogue on my site rather than my words or thoughts. But not always. Sometimes, much to my amazement to this day, people read the stuff I ramble about and actually care enough, are amsued enought, or get cheesed off enough to write something back. Which is humbling as a writer/blogger; even though the whole point of writing is the deep-seated belief that someone, somewhere, someday might read it... it still surprises me to realize that people sometimes really are reading -- and being reached in whatever way enough to get them to respond. Cool.
I could do something cheap in a blatant attempt to encourage comments, like promise a prize to the 2000th commenter. But unless one is initiating a comment orgy a la Jill (which I haven't yet had the stones to do because, well, I fear my readers... and because I frankly don't think there's enough of you left for me to actually make it to 100), doing a post that explicitly asks for comments is cheap... like saying "I spent all day in the kitchen making this meal for you, skipping my dialysis treatments and therapy sessions just for you... so how do you like the zucchini mousse?" It's fishing for compliments. And I shan't sully the spirit of this blog by engaging in such trite and obvious efforts (he said, feigning much pomposity).
So instead, I'll just say thank you.
Posted by Christopher at 06:58 AM | Comments (7)Through A Lens, Darkly
Warning: self-absorption and navel-gazing about blogger's own life ahead. Turn your boats away now if you don't want to be smashed upon the rocks of Mudge ruminating about his own little life. Seriously, remember that Sesame Street book you had when you were a little kid, with Grover warning you that there was a monster at the end of the book, and every time you turned a page he was exhorting you ever more urgently not to turn any more pages so that you wouldn't run into the monster at the end of the book? Yeah, it's like that. There's a navel-gazing monster at the end of this paragraph. Okay, I warned you.
I had a first-ever experience the other day (made all the more surreal by the fact that I was still recovering from the flu). I was in the city with a few work colleagues having publicity photos taken. Not only do we use them to drum up interest/show who we are when we're speaking somewhere... but soon, kids, if you know who I am "in real life" and what I do, you'll soon be able to see my Colossus-like mug on iTunes, in the channel where my work-related podcasts and those of my colleagues will be stored. (If you know me, you'll know where to look. If you don't, I have to protect my super-secret Clark Kent-like identity and not tell you where to look. Sorry.) And after that experience, all I can say is that now I know why supermodels rarely smile. It's hard work, smiling for 30 minutes and trying to look natural.
First of all, while I have worn makeup before (TV game shows, 80s hair band singing), it's still a very odd experience as a guy to be plopped into a chair by a professional makeup person to have her make you presentable -- especially after you've spent the morning doing your usual grooming routine to try and become presentable. And every time she spends more than a couple of seconds in one spot, you become very self-conscious about your complexion. Why has she been plastering spackle below the lower left corner of my mouth for the last 20 seconds? Do I have a zit? Oh geez, I'm gonna get my picture taken for the world and I have a huge zit on my face -- it's just like prom! Wait, what if it's not a zit? What if I have a rash? Or what if I just have bad skin? Oh my god, I'm ugly. I have hideous skin and need more makeup than a Star Trek alien to look good on camera! Can my skin breathe under this, or am I about to die a horrible death like that chick in Goldfinger?! But when she finished, I have to say that she had successfully eliminated every blemish or flaw that I usually notice in my face (well, you know... other than my face itself!), and I looked pretty decent -- almost passable.
You get out there into the studio, and immediately the staff begins to try and banter with you "to put you at ease" and make you "not remember that the camera is there." Which is pretty much impossible, seeing as how you're standing in a studio with tens of thousands of dollars of lighting equipment in front of you, a man with a camera the size of Kansas telling you to move "just a scooch" to your right, an art director checking test shots on a computer, and her assistant director sitting in front of you telling you to be natural. They were all genuinely nice people, I enjoyed bantering with them... but it's still out of your element and you're still very aware of the camera. You can't help it.
And after about 3 minutes, you start becoming very aware of your smile, and your hand gestures, and everything else about yourself... you become very conscious that you probably look like you're posing, or making exaggerated gestures... and that smile on your face either looks put-on, or you think you've got one of those six-year-olds-saying-cheeeeeese! looks going on, teeth bared in some half-smile, half-primeval gesture of warning grimace... plus your cheeks start to get tired. I'm not kidding... it sounds simple, just smiling, but if you doubt me then I suggest that you try smiling for 30 minutes straight and see how your face is feeling after Minute 19. And then start wondering if you've given that same smile four minutes earlier and whether you look dorky or whether your hair's been messed up by the fan, and so on... it ain't easy. I have more respect now for models -- seriously! -- than I did before Wednesday; it's harder than I realized.
So what else can I tell you about my roller coaster little life, besides that paid professionals spent Wednesday morning trying desperately to fight nature and make me look good? It looks like I will be traveling again soon... I have a gig in San Francisco in late October, two in New York and one in Boston before Election Day... and from the sounds of things at work, I will spend most of November on the road and overseas again. I've been home just long enough now that the travel bug has begun to bite again, and the idea of being in Europe again, and then Asia this time, has begun to become appealing once more. It'll make Thanksgiving planning a little more challenging this year, but I'll tough it out.
I have a two hour presentation this morning at work; a major company from Europe has asked for my "expertise" (ha!) about blogging and podcasting, and they're beaming me in via Web conference to teach them all about it. Senior management-type folks in the room, I hear. It'll be my standard conversation, I'm not worried about going two hours (believe me, I can rant for two hours on almost anything, especially when the audience is asking questions that keep things moving), but I am concerned about holding an audience's attention at a Web conference (meaning I won't actually be *in* the room) on a Friday afternoon from 3:30 to 5:30 their time. Because frankly, if it were me in the audience, by Friday at 4:00 I would have started to turn off and tune out, thinking about the weekend. If I was in the room, I could at least count on politeness to keep the eyes on me... but over the Web, I have no control over it. And while through sheer repetition and experience I am immeasurably better in front of an audience now than I was when I started this gig, I still rely on being able to make eye contact with people in order to anchor my "performance." So today oughta be interesting.
And finally... as both a test I'm conducting of how many people actually read my "all about me" posts, and as a reward to anyone who actually made it this far without falling asleep, I'm going to let you in on a little secret, as long as you promise not to tell anyone who didn't read this far. It'll be just between us.
There's a Girl.
I don't know how the hell it happened, since I have not had time over the past seven months to recall my own name, much less see any friends or have a social life. (I have inadvertantly been ignoring sooooo many people in 2006, many of whom could be excused for thinking that it was deliberate and I was ignoring or avoiding them.) There were a few dates with wonderful people who just got caught up in the riptide of me never being around all spring and summer long, and I feel bad about that. But however it happened despite my schedule, and for whatever reason that this one is "sticking," it's happened. I said it wasn't going to again, but it is. And you know what? I don't mind so much after all. And since I've finally seemed to break the 20something, decade-younger than me streak I'd settled into, perhaps the prospects here might be a little more realistic. Who knows?
All I can say is, there's a Girl. And Mudge is kinda happy. Stay tuned.
Posted by Christopher at 06:47 AM | Comments (6)Sign of the Apocolypse: Mudge Defends The Pope
Talk about things you never thought you'd read, huh?
It seems that something the Pope said last week in Germany has Muslims all around the world, including the Parliament of Pakistan, all upset and up in arms (again!). In a speech at Regensburg University, Pope Benedict apparently quoted a 14th centruy Byzantine emperor who was critical of Islam. Almost predictably, the practitioners of the religion with the world's thinnest skin have begun to muster their usual 'outrage' and complaints.
Muslim clerics, organizations and Web sites have expressed outrage at the pope’s remarks. Turkey’s top Islamic cleric asked Benedict to apologize and unleashed a string of accusations against Christianity, raising tensions before the pope’s planned visit to Turkey in November on what would be his first papal pilgrimage to a Muslim country.
Not to be insensitive here, but can anyone outside of Islam even mention the word "Islam" without upsetting the bulk of its practitioners? Geez... people are upset about the term "Islamo-fascists" (which I have no issue with, by the way, but that's a subject for another post); they're upset about newspaper cartoons; they issue fatwas over a book of fiction by Salman Rushdie... seriously, the whole "you have insulted us, we are outraged" thing is just getting a little old by this point. Religions get criticized, guys. (And yes, "guys" is the appropriate phrase here.) It happens. It's inherent in being a major religion. If Christians got this upset any time anyone questioned anything about the religion or even insulted its practitioners, the world probably wouldn't exist by this point. Grow a thicker skin, kids. You want to be on the big stage, then you need to be able to take a few catcalls. Get over it. Especially given some of the vile garbage that has spewed from the mouths of some of your more prominent member-leaders.
Bardakoglu said that “if the pope was reflecting the spite, hatred and enmity” of others in the Christian world, then the situation was even worse.
You'll want to grab a mirror, Mr. Bardakoglu, and take a long, healthy gaze. If you honestly feel that mere words can be that damaging, then there's a whole bunch of Wahabi'st clerics' words you need to take a look at... and Pakistani leaders... and Shi'ite leaders in Iraq... and so on, and so on, and so on.
Look, I am a fair-minded guy. I remind myself all the time, when watching the world news, that what we see almost every day in the world is not an accurate portrayal of all Muslims; that the wholescale murder and violence we see every day in the world is the work of people who have perverted the actual intent and spirit of Islam to the same extent that the KKK or extremist social conservatives have perverted the actual intent and spirit of Christianity. I understand that. And the mantra that "it's not all Muslims, Islam is a religion of peace" has been drilled into my head by rote for the past half decade. So I get it. But.... I have no tolerance for hypocrisy, whether practiced by US Republicans or Islamic leaders, and I call it out when I see it. The croccodile tears that get shed any time someone isn't glowingly positive about Islam have become tiresome, and they're prime examples of the kind of hypocrisy I cannot and will not abide.
Not being particularly religious, I'm not sure exactly which book it was that contained the passage "People in glass houses shouldn't throw stones." But it's a wise verse all the same. Before you guys go criticizing the pope, or talking about words that reflect spite, hatred and enmity... clean up your own dad gum house. Then maybe you can turn to asking the Pope to choose his words more carefully.
Posted by Christopher at 06:32 AM | Comments (1)September 13, 2006
September 11
Obviously, like everyone else I was aware that Monday was the fifth 'anniversary' of 9/11. Being in New York, there are reminders every day - from the still raw 'hole in the ground' at the Trade Center site, to the ubiquitous radio ads reminding listeners that abandoned packages and backpacks could be bombs, that we are still under threat, and exhorting us "if you see something, say something."
A couple of years ago, I did my requisite elegy for 9/11 post. I can't pretend to have been as deeply affected as so many New Yorkers obviously were; no one I knew was in the Towers that day. Nor was I as indirect a victim as many Americans not living in New York or DC; I knew people in the Pentagon (none who died, thankfully), it took more than 24 hours to locate my brother and my best friend, the two cities attacked were my current residence and my adopted hometown, and the planes that hit the towers took off from the city I went to school in. While I did not lose any friends that day, the places attacked weren't just distant places somewhere else in my country; they were all of the homes I had known to that point since leaving the state I grew up in. It felt more directly, you know, personal I guess is the word.
Every year on that date I get the same hollow feeling in my core, one that somehow is deeper than the one I get whenever I'm in the city and still find myself looking for the WTC as a landmark to orient myself by, and deeper than the one I get whenever I drive past the Pentagon during my visits back "home" in DC. And you know how, when you're going through a painful breakup, there comes a point where you just get sick of feeling so terribly and decide that you don't want to feel the pain anymore, and you sort of choose to take your emotions and your life back? I'm kind of getting to that point with the date of September 11. I don't ever want to forget it -- anyone taking that sentiment as one of disrespect or irreverance is missing my point. I just want to take control back, to claim that day back on the calendar as one where it's okay to be in a good mood, or to do something fun, or to just be American in every way, good and bad, and go about my life. In short, I want that day back.
I want to take it back from Osama bin Laden and al Qaeda. I might have to take off my shoes and skip bringing shampoo in my carry-ons, you sons of bitches, but I will not live in fear of you, and you no longer get even one of the 365 days in the year to dominate my thoughts. Your attempt to bludgeon and intimidate me has failed; I am an American and I'm not going to cower or mope on that day any further. September 11 is mine -- is ours -- and I am taking it away from you from now on, you cowardly bastards. May you rot in hell.
I want to take it back from my government and the ruling party, which has politicized the attacks to no end for its own selfish political gain incessantly for the past five years, and has used it as an excuse for invading an unrelated country, for approving torture and flaunting the Geneva Convention, and for a crackdown on the very civil liberties and freedoms that our attackers resent so deeply. I'm an American too, Mr. Bush -- one who served in the military, by the way, unlike most of your hawkish war cabinet -- and you can't marginalize me or paint me as unpatriotic anymore by using the broad brush of September 11, behaving as if that day didn't mean as much to me just because I don't agree with you. September 11 belongs to all Americans, not just the ones who think like you want them to -- and I'm taking it back from you.
I want to take it back from those who would have life come to a stop and standstill because of that day. It was very obviously the greatest tragedy our nation has ever experienced -- 3000 innocent civilians died that day -- and I don't mean to minimize or diminish it. But we owe each of the dead the respect of going on with our lives, and making sure they did not die in vain. The fact that five years later there is still wrangling and arguing over the site of the tragedy, and no memorial erected yet because the city, the families, the architects, the land developers, and whoever else can't stop squabbling about what memorial is sufficient long enough to actually erect a monument or memorial is a shame. It's embarrassing. And while New Orleans mayor Nagin chose his words poorly, his point still remains: it's five years now, and it's time we stop being petty, start to rebuild, and get a memorial in place where people can go to remember.
Life did not stop on September 11, 2001. In many ways it was altered, but the world kept turning. It is our greatest responsibility to those who perished in the attacks to not let the terrorsts win even a little bit -- and if we don't go on with our lives even on that date, then they have won a small victory. It's one I am determined not to let them claim. Reporter and writer Christopher Hitchens wrote an editorial in the New York Daily News on Sunday September 10, on the subject of whether to make September 11 a national holiday. He opposes it, and I couldn't agree more with his reasoning.
We have already embarrassed ourselves - and begun to bore the people of other countries - by describing the atrocity as "an attack on America." More than 80 nationalities, as well as many people of all faiths, were numbered among the victims of what was actually an assault on civilization. To commemorate it as a "national" day would be to miss a large part of its point. And to call it a "holiday" would be to degrade it even further. How long before people would start asking each other - as they now do for Memorial Day - say, "What're you doing for the Sept. 11 long weekend?"
He's right. We can't argue that 'islamofascists are waging a war against civilization' in one breath while proclaiming September 11 as the day America was attacked in the next, unless we really mean to imply that America = civilization (something that no one who's watched Jerry Springer, Jackass, or any of the umpteen reality TV series would likely care to argue!). And I can think of no greater insult to those who died than for the date to become a trivialized excuse for a second long weekend in a row. Not that the activities of such a weekend -- beach house rentals, picnics and barbecues, romantic B&B getwaways, etc. -- would be an insult; to the contrary, I think that claiming that date back on the calendar by engaging in everyday life activities would be the best way to honor them.... we're still Americans, we still do what we do, and the terrorists didn't change any of that. But let's do that without acting like we need to bring the world to a stop in order to do so. We don't need a holiday; we just need to go about our lives.
I will not forget those who died in the attacks of September 11, 2001. But I am taking the date of September 11 back. I'm an American, and it belongs to me again. And there's nothing that al Qaeda or anyone else can do about it.
Posted by Christopher at 07:41 AM | Comments (3)Welcome Back Matsui
It might sound odd, me legitimately and unsarcastically welcoming back a Yankee to the ballfield. But I do so willingly and without reservation. Of all the players on that blasted, evil team, there's one who conducts himself on and off the field in such a way that I can't help but respect -- and even like! -- him. HIdeki Matsui returned to the playing field last night after four months off due to a broken wrist, and promptly got four hits in four at-bats.
Matsui pulled off probably the greatest piece of hitting I have ever seen in person. Back in 2004, Tim and I were lucky enough to get tickets to Game 1 of the ALCS. Schilling pitched that day (it was before they stitched his tendon to his skin in his ankle, so he was getting rocked). There were two on and two outs, and two strikes against Matsui. Schilling threw precisely the pitch he wanted to -- we had good seats with a decent view of the plate and could pick up the movement on the ball, and this was a breaking ball that started waist high and over the plate, then darted down and in on Matsui, crossing his bat plane at near shoetops level. Matsui simply altered his swing, and golfed a rope down the right field line off the wall for a bases-clearing double. I couldn't even be mad; a great hitter had just done some great hitting off a Hall of Fame pitcher who had thrown a good pitch, precisely what he wanted to throw. I was impressed then and remain impressed by him.
But more than his on-field exploits, it is the classy way Matsui carries himself off the field that has earned my respect. Eschewing the New York "all about me/look at me" attitude, he is humble and obviously respectful of the game of baseball. How many other star players, on any team, would have reacted to a second standing ovation in one game the way Matsui did after getting his fourth hit in a row?
“I really didn’t want to make a big deal out of it,” he said. “I don’t want to disrespect my teammates.”
Any other player could have been forgiven for soaking in the moment, maybe even playing it up for the crowd a little. Matsui respects his teammates -- and the game -- so much that he barely tipped his cap for fear of making the moment more about him than about his team winning a game.
That's why I like him. Humble, classy, and respectful of the game. And a damn good ballplayer as well. Welcome back, Godzilla. You might be a Yankee, but you're all right.
Posted by Christopher at 07:27 AM | Comments (2)September 12, 2006
Papi Pops Off
To David "Big Papi" Ortiz:
From: A Devoted Sox Fan Who Loves To Watch You Play
Subj: Politicking
Hello, Mr. Ortiz. You don't know me, but I am one of the millions of Red Sox fans whom you've reduced to giggling schoolkids about 30 times in the last two years. I love watching you hit; I love that I can always feel like the Sox have a chance if they're within four runs and you could come to the plate before the game is over. I love that you're always smiling, that you're a leader in the clubhouse not because of your contract or because you've got PR whizzes carefully cratfing your image and setting up VISA commercials for you... but because you genuinely love ths game, you're a natural leader, and men whose skills entitle them to lead will instead willingly follow you out of deference to what you've done on the field. You're a class act, Papi, and you're a great example for the kids of Red Sox Nation to follow.
All that said, this politicking you're doing for the American League MVP Award has got to stop. It doesn't become you.
Look, you will get no argument from me: you were robbed and jobbed last year. Alex Rodriguez was no more an MVP than OJ Simpson was husband of the year. He's more than proved that this season; he's a stats padder who has this really pathetic habit of gagging when his team needs him most, and runs his numbers up in 9-1 ballgames where his performance doesn't matter. He's a joke. You, on the other hand, are the best clutch hitter of your generation, having won more ballgames with 9th inning hits than any other player in baseball since 2003. You've kept it up in 2006 as well, with five walk-off home runs already (most teams don't even have that many as a combined unit). As the Joy of Sox Blog recounts:
Since the end of the 2004 regular season, Ortiz has come to the plate in a walk-off situations 19 times -- and reached base 16 times. He is 11-for-14 (.786), with 7 HR and 20 RBI. In 2005 and 2006, he is 8-for-9, with 5 HR and 15 RBI!
So you'll get no argument from me, Papi. You were the MVP in 2005, not that overrated prettyboy who currently draws his oversized paycheck in the Bronx. And you've got to be right there in the mix for 2006 as well, despite the Sox' rash of injuries and life-threatening illnesses (including your own heart palpitations) having caused them to fall out of contention for the playoffs. I'm your greatest defender, having spent the majority of the last ten months arguing passionately to the Yankee fans in my office that Pay-Rod jobbed you last season, and that 2006 proves it. You're my guy, Papi.
But it's beneath the dignity of a player of your stature to go campaigning for the award. In fact, it's downright embarrassing.
Yes, I know that there are still some idiot writers who simply refuse to consider a DH or a pitcher for an MVP vote at all, much less a first place vote. Those writers should be stripped of their votes for sheer stupidity (like it or not, Grandpa, the DH is part of the game and has been for 33 years... so punishing players who hit in that position simply because you don't like the rule is spiteful and ignorant). I agree that voters would do well to look at the overall importance of a player to his team. (Personally, I do not believe that the MVP award should go to the best player in the league; it should go to, as the name suggests, the most valuable player -- the guy whose team doesn't do nearly as well if he weren't in the lineup, the guy who's made the most dramatic impact on his team's success. That's why no player for a last place team should ever win it -- how can you be valuable if your team sucked? -- and why players with great individual seasons are not always MVPs in my eyes.)
But Papi? There's other players this season who've been qualified candidates. I don't place Derek Jeter among them -- it doesn't matter how good of a season he's having; take the male model out of the $208 million payroll, and the Yankee$ still win 90 games -- but there are others who've been absolutely imperative to their team's success in 2006. Jermaine Dye in Chicago is a case in point. So is Johan Santana in Minnesota. Either one of those men would be a deserving MVP. Santana in particular is a longshot, because of the same prejudices that lead some idiot voters to avoid voting for a DH... but you don't see him out there campaigning, do you?
Papi, you were jobbed last year. No question. And you are right up there with the top candidates in 2006. But going out and disparaging other players' performances -- even while claiming 'with all due respect' -- isn't standing up for yourself. It's whining.
"He's done a great job, he's having a great season, but Jeter is not a 40-homer hitter or an RBI guy. It doesn't matter how much you've done for your ball club, the bottom line is, the guy who hits 40 home runs and knocks in 100, that's the guy you know helped your team win games."
See, that's what I'm talking about, Papi. Your numbers should stand on their own, without you needing to knock Jeter in public. And if there's any campaigning to be done, it should be done by your manager Tito Francona, your GM and/or owner, and by Boston sportswriters. Not you. It's like going up to your best friend when he announces his engagement and saying "I should be your best man." It might be true, but it's ugly and awkward. And you're better than that.
So keep up the great work, big man. I'll continue to cheer you on and think that you are the 2005 MVP and the greatest clutch hitter of this generation. Just try to tone down the obvious politicking. It looks like sour grapes -- and sour grapes make for lousy whine.
Posted by Christopher at 08:22 AM | Comments (3)September 11, 2006
Where'd That Truck Come From?
You know, the one that must have hit me some time in the last two days?
I don't know the origin of the phrase "sick as a dog" -- most of the dogs I've ever been acquainted with haven't been sick. Nor do I understand how someone might look like "death warmed over;" death is not warm even once, much less "over" or a second time. And it's not really possible for any of us to know how it feels to "feel like shit." Perhaps your social lives are more adventurous than my own, but I've never had the experience of being excreted, so it's not really a parallel I can draw; I have no idea what shit feels like.
But whatever inappropriate or inaccurate metaphor or descriptor one uses, it applies to me today. I started coming down with something Friday night into Saturday morning; I had a restful Saturday and managed to stave it off for 24 hours. Saturday night I could tell it wasn't going to go away if I ignored it, and by Sunday morning I was decidedly under the weather (speaking of silly metaphors that make no sense). So of course, I went to an amusement park for the company picnic all day on Sunday and ran around for seven hours. No one has ever accused me of being a smart man, have they?
This morning I woke up feeling like there'd been a monster truck rally on SUNDAY! SUNDAY! SUNDAY! all over my head; I was running a 102 fever, my head and sinuses were stuffed up to the point of uselessness (god, it's fun being a mouthbreather), my head pounded like there was a forge inside it, my throat burned, and my muscles ached like I'd just played six hours of football without pads. I am usually one of those annoying people who goes into the office even if death itself is dripping from my nose -- I will not miss work for much of anything, and it's people like me whom you have to thank for the spread of the flu every season -- but I knew the moment I woke up that I wasn't going anywhere today.
Usually when I (or most of us, I suspect) am sick, I'll at least drag myself into the living room and watch television or something, which would usually give rise to a post on this blog about how disgusting daytime television is. Not today. I laid in bed all day, surrounded by Sudafed, Advil, Chloraseptic, kleenex, a somewhat disinterested cat who nonetheless managed to instinctively know when I was feeling worst and chose those times to cuddle himself up against my ribs and start purring, and orange juice. So I have no reviews of today's maudlin TV coverage, or anything like that.
Instead, I was left to ponder the wonders of the universe from my sickbed. Like, how wonderfully Freudian it is that there is a controversy involving Maria Sharapova and a banana. Or like how there is a primary in Rhode Island tomorrow that involves the extreme right wing of the Repuiblican party going after a sitting Republican senator for not being extreme enough, and yet there are barely any stories in the conservative media (spoon-fed by the Republican Party) about how Republicans are eating their young as the extreme wing of the party takes over -- despite very similar dynamics as the Connecticut race last month. (I said then and I will say again now, the major dynamic at play for either party is a rather militant strain of anti-incumbency.)
Or how amazing Ryan Howard's season has been for the Philadelphia Phillies, and how no one is making a big enough of a deal about it -- perhaps because we're afraid to get burned again -- and how he's presumed guilty... and how that may be McGwire/Sosa/Bonds' biggest legacy to the game: anyone who excels is simply assumed to be on steroids. I hope he hits 62 or more; if he does, then frankly he is the all-time single season home run leader in my mind. Screw the 'roided up numbers of the turn of the millenium; Bonds cheated and we all know it. So did McGwire, and so did Sosa. Go Ryan... and please, for the love of the game, be clean of performance enhancers.
I had a few other ruminations today... if I can stay awake long enough, I'll share them. In the meantime, if anyone saw the license plate of the truck that clobbered me, I'd be mighty obliged.
Posted by Christopher at 07:08 PM | Comments (2)September 10, 2006
The Star Spangled Banner
I probably should have written some 9/11 related posts tonight, but I am sick as a dog with a nasty cold I've come down with over the weekend, and I'm not up to being articulate or in any way erudite.
So instead, I'll simply express love for our great country, with all of our faults and all of our strengths, by posting a video of the single greatest performance of the Star Spangled Banner that I have ever heard (thanks to some friends at work for bringing it to my attention). I can think of no greater tribute than Marvin Gaye's 1983 performance of the national anthem at the 1983 NBA all-star game -- the last public performance he gave before he was killed, and the most soulful, heartfelt, powerful version of the song ever recorded (yes, I do include the to-me-overrated Whitney Houston version in that statement). When you can cite another instance of a crowd clapping along in rhythm and in awe to the Star Spangled Banner, then I'll consider that other instance as a potential rival to this one. Until then, Marvin has the crown.
My fellow Americans, Marvin Gaye's Star Spangled Banner.
Posted by Christopher at 11:09 PM | Comments (2)September 09, 2006
Requiem For A Heavyweight
A post that my friend Corey did last week really got me thinking.(And yes, despite our vehement disagreements about baseball, I do consider the man a good friend and am looking forward to meeting him in person the weekend of the Philadelphia Marathon and 8K.) The father of a good friend of Corey's recently died, and Corey wrote about it. But it was his last sentence that really caught my eye: I'm looking forward to helping him celebrate his father's life this weekend. It was a fun ride.
"Celebrate his father's life." Now there's a wonderful way to look upon a wake and funeral. It reflects everything that I believe about life and death, and I think is a wonderful sentiment. And that statement really has had me thinking and being pensive since I read it. (Thanks, Corey, by the way.)
I don't expect to die any time soon. Since late July I have really started taking the whole gym/training thing seriously... and while I have inexplicably gained 8 pounds since I started hitting the treadmill three or four times a week, I can definitely feel an improvement in my energy levels and cardio performance. So I'm getting healthier. I'm 38, and even though that sometimes feels very old, the truth is that I should be able to hang around for another 40 or even 50 years yet, if I'm smart about it. I've had some brushes with scary things (Barrett's esophagus, a heart scare, and as we all know I'm not right in the head ;-) ), but despite all of this I expect to be around for a while. Even so, Corey's line about celebrating life rather than mourning death really got me thinking -- and not in a morbid way at all -- about what I might want after my own death. So while a blog is not a legal document, this entry does represent my wishes; if I were to die any time in the unforeseen but near future, this is what I'd want. (And to those of you know know me in real life, if you don't do this for me when I go, I will come back and haunt you like a thing from a Japanese horror movie!)
First of all, you will tell others and tell yourselves that I "died." Oh, how I hate the euphemisms we usually use, like "passed away" or "passed on" or "went to his rest" or "we lost so-and-so"... like the final triumph of death is our inability to accept the finality of the word, so we must come up with something a little less scary to say, almost as a way of denying it. I didn't pass anywhere; you pass kidney stones or those jerkface slow drivers who aren't driving in the right-most lane of the highway. I ain't resting either. I died. I'm not coming back; it's not like I went to sleep and am gonna wake up next week and freak you all out and say "just kidding!" Whenever I die, I want the respect from people to acknowledge that the run is over, not pussy-footing around the event. Please, for the love of God, when I go, say it out loud: Christopher died. Thank you.
Don't bury me. The idea of a headstone is nice and all, but cemetaries really are a terrible waste of land, especially as humankind continues to populate itself closer to the tipping point every day (we really are like the viruses in the famous soliloquoy from "The Matrix"), and we could use the land for farming or housing... I don't want to contribute to the too-many-people-not-enough-space problem by continuing to take up six feet of land when I'm clearly not going to use it anymore. Besides, those who survive me and have direct memories of me might have at most another 80 years to come visit my grave, and then the headstone becomes little more than historical morbid curiosity. So even though it might be really fun to hook up a motion detector to a digital recording inlaid in the headstone so that I could yell at people walking by for stepping on my head, I don't want to be buried. Creamate my behind (and the rest of me).
With my ashes... if the Boston Red Sox allow it, I want to be scattered into the dirt behind home plate at Fenway. In the likely event that the Sox don't fancy the idea of their catcher digging his cleats in a fan every time he takes the field, here's a couple of other ideas. I've always loved the ocean, so any ocean setting would be appropriate. Maybe take some of my ashes back down to the Turks & Caicos and set me free in the Caribbean breezes. Or, a little closer to home, maybe go to Assateague Island National Seashore and find a nice place right along the shoreline or near the salt marshes to let me fly. Or maybe even haul my ash all the way over to Spain, and find someplace in the Spanish countryside or along the Mediterranean shore to free me to the winds; the added benefit of this plan would be that it would get all my loved ones and friends and family and all to get to my favorite country in the world to kick back and finally see just what I love so much about Spain. So - any of those three places would be fine with me.
Oh - and one more thing about the physical remains issue: if god forbid I should die in an international incident of some sort, a terrorist thing or some bizarre fated wrong-place-wrong-time thing, please for the love of everything sacred to me do not make a big deal about the actual physical ground I died on. There's no such thing as "sacred ground" with me; sacred ground is Fenway Park, or an undisturbed salt marsh wetland, or the ocean and beach with protected dune grass. The physical spot I died can be built on, says I; please, no unbecoming and embarrassing standing in the way of the recovery for the living by arguing about how my death-spot has to be kept pristine and untouched for perpetuity. I'm telling you now: if there's pieces of me on some site somewhere that have never been recovered, and someone says 'it's time to rebuild," I want them to rebuild. If the only way to remember a person is to leave the location of their demise bare for eternity, then there's about a zillion hospital beds that should never be laid in again. So for god's sake, let 'em build over the top of me. I won't be able to use a memorial footprint by then anyway, so just let life go on.
Now... on to the wake. Celebrate, dammit; that's an order. I had a rough mental stretch for a few years, and it took me a long damn time to get to a point where I actually enjoyed the whole being alive thing like I do today. So honor the fact that I finally got here by having some fun. Anyone not smiling at my wake should have to be the first one sitting at the dunk tank. Yeah, I think I want a dunk tank at my wake -- would be fun to have a carny sideshow element to it. Understanding that those might be hard to rent, I'll forgive you if you can't find one... but if you could, I'd be laughing somewhere.
The whole thing should be a party and celebration. Not even of my life -- those tend to get into maudlinity pretty quick. Just have a party. Find lots of good music -- check my 80s list for a few ideas (especially that top 11 or so); consult with Tim about some good blues to put on the stereo (Tim being my most knowledgeable blues co-afficianado); and maybe throw some good country in the mix as well (if "It's Five O'Clock Somewhere" isn't played at my wake, then someone dropped the damn ball). I want a tiki theme, too -- no suits from those attending. I wasn't a suit guy in life, and I sure as hell don't want to be one in death, or to have anyone else being one. No, I want people showing up in their best camp shirts, cargo shorts, halter tops (hubba hubba!) and flower print skirts, wearing sandals and shades and sunblock. (I don't care if it's January and 19 degrees out; I want a tiki wake, dammit.) There should be lots of tropical drinks available (make sure the bartender knows how to make a good mojito!, as well as pina coladas, hurricanes, daquiris and other Caribbean-styled concoctions), and if you're really gonna shoot the moon, have a steel drum band.
There should be a TV somewhere in the room or building, and on that TV should be shown a recurring loop of the DVD of the 2004 World Series. Yankee fans attending my wake must be made to sit and watch the replays of the 2004 ALCS at least once during the party.
Since the women are all going to be in halter tops anyway, there should be at least a few cases of flashing the Mudge's photo, girls gone wild style. What, like I'm gonna remember what I saw at that point anyway? Quit being so damned modest and flash 'em. Moon me too, if you feel the urge; I always loved a good caboose. (Guys are allowed to moon if they really feel they must, but I draw the line at sharking me.) I was always highly appreciative of the female body, so why not give me one more show for the road?
Anyone speaking about me in front of the gathered assembly will not -- I repeat, not -- tell some Chicken Soup For The Dead Guy feel-good stories about how I once saved 19 kittens and cute puppies from a burning building, or gave a homeless man a $5000 bill in his change cup. I did none of those things, and I was no angel. Neither was I a devil, but my point is that I don't want those "he was such a nice guy" stories popping up. If you didn't think I was a nice guy, you probably wouldn't be attending my wake, so that part's a given; plus, those are the things that make people cry stupidly when I want a fiesta.
So... anyone wanting to talk about me should simply recount the stupidest, funniest thing they ever saw me do or heard about me doing: the time I was photographed by a Washington Post photographer talking to God on the big white phone after an evening of enjoying Dewey Beach a little too much; the night I sang "I Am Woman" at karaoke after losing a bet to Mrs. Doc; my misadventures on a Rome side street; the fact that I could never remember the rules to "Perry's Murder" when playing cards and must have lost a combined total of more than $100 from making bets that, while smart in other card games, were playing dead in Perry's Murder; how embarrassed I was at the Jolly Green Giant newspaper photo that ran with my first profile story last January; how I could never seem to play the company softball tournament without hurting something or shredding some part of my anatomy; or any of another hundred stories of dumb stuff I did that made you laugh, or some only-to-Christopher situation I got myself into, or whatever else it might be. The only requisite is that it be a story designed to get a laugh -- either laughing with me or laughing at my expense, either is okay -- and not to reflect "what a good guy he was." Again: I'll take your being in attendance as proof that you thought I was a good guy. What I want when it's your turn is for you to use something about my life to make others laugh.
All that, and Jello. Lots of Jello. You can't have a party without Jello.
Posted by Christopher at 12:32 PM | Comments (7)Quick Shout Out
You know how sometimes life sneaks up and kicks you in the unkickables (or shouldn't be kickables, anyway)? Well, such a stretch seems to have settled upon a new blog-friend of mine, Jennifer over at Open Book. We made each other's acquaintance during the recent 80s countdown, and true to what happens so often in the blogosphere, when I started going over to her site I realized just how many better-writers-than-me are out there in the world. Her stuff is contemplative, poignant, and definitely worth reading -- even if I was too intimidated to offer comments very often. ;-)
Unfortunately, my recommendation of her (which I'd been planning on doing for a while) is coming too late; family crises have required that she concentrate her energies on the offline world for a while. But - as a favor to me - if you're so inclined, go over to her last entry, "Pause," and just send some good vibes her way. We all have these lousy stretches in life, and god knows a little extra support goes a long way during those times, even if we don't know the folks lending it. So just wish her well -- and when she returns, I definitely recommend reading her.
Good luck with everything, Jennifer. It'll all work out. We all wish you well.
Posted by Christopher at 12:08 PM | Comments (2)September 06, 2006
Back In The Saddle Again
After a cheap and easy fix that seems too simple to work yet so far appears to be holding up, I am back on the blog. Tomorrow night I will be at the Aerosmith/Motley Crue concert in Hartford (man, I have become one of those annoying people who keeps going to see bands that were big when he was young, long after their prime... oh well, what the hell -- it's going to be fun, so what do I care?), so I won't be able to actually blog until Friday.
But in my absence, I leave you this clip that Tim brought to my attention... MSNBC's Keith Olbermann (who I loved on SportsCenter back in the day and who is rapidly earning my trust and admiration for being one of the few journalists/commentators left who actually stands up to conservatives instead of rolling over and allowing himself to be steamrolled by them and spewing out Republican/conservative propaganda like 98% of the rest of the media these days) standing up to that fascist demagogue Donald Rumsfeld. You know, between his taking Bill "UnAmerican Piece of Garbage" O'Reilly to the woodshed earlier this year for lying about the details of the Malmody massacre and villifying Americans who were in fact butchered by the Nazis that day, and his being willing to point out exactly what a totalitarian dingleberry that Rumsfeld is, Olbermann's at his best when lashing out in righteous indignation at conservative outrages. One of the only good ones we have left, ladies and gentleman, who's earning his place at the table with Murrow (whom he cites in this clip). Enjoy, and I'll catch up to you later this week.
Posted by Christopher at 11:14 PM | Comments (3)September 04, 2006
What's Next? A Forced Break
Hey all. Would love to write more, but... first of all, the local electic utility has proven in the last weekend why they call it Con Ed (a more incompetent local utility, I have never been forced to live under... Ernesto was a freaking tropical depression and they couldn't keep the lights on... and now after 36 hours of beautiful sunshine and 74 degrees, there is still a tree on the lines behind my place and I am forced to go to Starbucks to log on... I hate Con Ed, and I hate monopolies, and I hate insipid bimbos who hog the electric outlets at Starbucks charging up their cell phone... get a car charger, you clueless Westchester harpie, and quit keeping me from charging up my laptop!). Also - the countdown is done, which means it is long past time to take this computer in to Best Buy and get it fixed and not burn my apartment down.
And since I've yet to be able to track down a user name and password, that means this blog is temporarily off line. I will be back as soon as possible, I promise, so please keep checking back or watching your RSS readers.
Thanks to everyone who followed along for so long with the 80s thing.... it was nice to have everyone playing along and to have a lot of readers paying attention. I'll be back as soon as I can.
Christopher
Posted by Christopher at 11:25 AM | Comments (1)September 01, 2006
Mudge's Favorite 134 Songs of the 80s: #1
Could there really have been any other song up here?
I mean, yeah... sure there could. I said myself that my top ten or eleven might have been shuffled around in a different order if I had it to do again. But somehow, I have a feeling that this one would have come up right around number one no matter how many times I did the list.
There are rock anthems, and then there are the ones that become guaranteed to become all-time classics, known and loved years beyond their initial run. These songs provide an automatic adrenaline rush to accompany their opening notes and bars. These anthems are easily adopted by sports teams as "fire-up-the-crowd" songs. Queen was particularly good at this; "We Will Rock You" is a stadium staple, and "We Are The Champions" is guaranteed to be played at least a thousand times a year, every time a professional franchise or college or high school team wins a title. Ozzy Osbourne's "Crazy Train" gained a new generation of fans who first heard it at a ballgame of some sort. The song at #1 on my list is another in this pantheon, being used by everyone from the old Minnesota North Stars to the Cincinnati Bengals to Derek Jeter.
My favorite song of the 1980s is "Welcome To The Jungle" by Guns N'Roses.
But it's not great because of its use in sporting events. It just happened to lend itself to use in arenas because of the classic opening by Slash (in my opinion the most underrated guitarist of all-time... there were a couple who were better, but they all get their just due; Slash gets overlooked despite writing some classic riffs and laying down classic solos), and because of its instant classic theme... you just got into something way over your head, son.
As Wikipedia notes about the song's origin, Axl Rose wrote the song after an encounter with a homeless man, who accosted him and a friend in the Bronx late at night. Trying to put a scare into the young runaways, the man yelled at them, "You know where you are? You're in the jungle baby, you're gonna die!". The incident made such an impact, Axl turned it into one of the greatest hard rock hits of all time.
From that run-in with a street person came the 80s' most signature rock song -- the inspiring line screamed to great effect during the build to the final chorus. That build is only one of a half dozen classic elements to the song. From the echo-note guitar-followed by slow chord build opening that featured Axl's siren-like caterwaul... to his stuttering "kn-kn-kn-kn-kn-kn-kn-kn-knees" in the chorus... to the driving rhythm line thanks to the bass & drums that make the song impossible not to stamp your feet along with... to Slash's great guitar work, in both his solo and in the distinctive sounds he added to the bridge... to Axl's vocal work on the song, which rivaled anything Robert Plant did on his best day... to that classic build out of the bridge into the final chorus, with that driving, crawling bassline, menacing guitar, and Axl screaming 'you gonna diiiiiiiiiieeeeeeee".... all the way to the final notes -- Axl's angry grunt followed by the last chord. A song in which every element and every second is instantly classic comes along... oh, about once a decade, maybe?
I'll always consider it one of the greater sins or tragedies in rock history that GnR never got 15 or 20 years to lay down a box set's worth of classic greatest hits; drugs, alcohol, and Axl's being a selfish jerk who also happened to be borderline schizoid. I'll never forgive him for costing the world who knows how much great music. But before he lost it, GnR gave us five incredible years, capped by this, their crowning achievement: not only an all-time classic, but my favorite song of the 1980s.
Ladies and gentlemen, "Welcome To The Jungle."
Posted by Christopher at 04:01 PM | Comments (11)Mudge's Favorite 134 Songs of the 80s: No-Shows
Sorry about the bandwidth thing ... still trying to figure out exactly what went wrong there and why. As a result of not being able to access my control panel for the last 24 hours, I didn't get a chance to write about every act that didn't make the countdown... but here's a quick synopsis of 80s notables you didn't find on this list anywhere:
-- Madonna I didn't like anything of hers until the Ray Of Light album in 1998... have a ton of respect for her as a businesswoman, but never dug the music. Closest thing she did to making this list was "Like A Virgin," but that was for the role her image on the '84 Video Music Awards played in my pubescent years, not because I loved the song.
-- Hall & Oates You'd think that liking old soul and Motown like I do, I'd like the 80s most notable blue-eyed soul act. I never did. "You Make My Dreams Come True" was tolerable, but beynd that I'd be hard pressed to name a H&O song from the 80s that I liked. (Ironically, I dig two of their 70s hits, "Rich Girl" and "She's Gone")
-- Bon Jovi I wish I could playfully goad my readers who love the tri-state area by saying I didn't like them because they were from New Jersey, but a) I was born in New Jersey, and b) it didn't factor into the equation; I just never got into any of their songs. Odd, since I was so into hair pop, but this band just never did anything for me. "Wanted Dead Or Alive" was the closest they got to my countdown, but it never got all that close... didn't even make my initial list.
The Bangles Biggest claim to fame was that Susanna Hoffs had really pretty eyes, and married the dude who directed "Austin Powers." That's pretty weak claim to a place on this chart.
John Cougar Mellencamp He was a midwestern imitation of Springsteen, but at least that meant he was authentic. I respect his commitment he had and has to American farmers, and I think he's genuine, but in between 1980's "Ain't Even Done With The Night" and 1993's "Human Wheels," I just didn't dig his stuff.
Billy Joel I'm going to get in trouble for this one, but I have never seen myself as a big Billy Joel fan. Sure, there were some of his songs that I liked and that were in the running for this countdown -- 1980's "Still Rock And Roll To Me," 1983's "Pressure," 1989's "We Didn't Start The Fire" -- but for some reason, I've just never thought of myself as a fan. I see why others are, but I am just not. And that brings me to the omission that I know I will be excoriated over, but is omitted all the same...
Bruce Springsteen I sometimes think that if any editor or critic from any of the Northeastern publishing elite (Time, Newsweek, Rolling Stone, etc.) had ever lived in a house with a screen door, there wouldn't be Bruce Springsteen as we know him today. Because if they ever had been even middle-income instead of rich elite people, then a lyric about a screen door slamming would hardly have seemed so authentic, so rustic, so Woody Guthrie-like a representation of 'real' American life. And without that fawning over a lyric and its perceived brilliance (again... okay, so the screen door slammed... where's the brilliance in that?), we might not have had Jon Landau ranting about the future of rock being Bruce in 1974. And without the cult that built up around him in the 70s, we might not have had the absolute worship that evolved in the 80s.
It's not that I actively dislike Bruce; I don't. It's just that I am not a member of his cult. And since so many of my good friends are -- I know people who've gone to see him 30 times or more, including a couple of readers of this blog -- and more importantly, since I now live near New Jersey, and the extent to which the Cult Of Bruce owns that state and how much he gets jammed down your throat here rivals anything Chairman Mao ever did in China at his zenith ... well, you all know me well enough to know that the more urgently and pervasively I am told to like something, the less likely I am to like it.
(Anything that's uber-popular or whose devotees insist on me needing to like, the odds are that I will unconsciously reject it. I don't mean to, but I was born a contrarian and whether I mean it to happen or not, it just does. It's why I hated Gretzky when I was growing up, and one reason why I have a stubborn anti-tristate streak in me... if anyone around here ever realized that they could leave well enough alone and not insist that the world must love NY as much as they do, I probably wouldn't mind the place so much... but keep insisting to me that it's the greatest place in the world, and how I must be crazy to not like it here, and you've pretty much guaranteed that I will become even more entrenched in my disdain. I hated the LA Lakers, the Dallas Cowboys, and most popular television shows as a result of this admittedly petty streak.)
Anyway... all that aside and back to Bruce... I just never got into him. Which drives the Brucenites batty... but I just never thought he was the rock and roll messiah that he was anointed to be, is all. I can listen to some of his stuff and it's not bad, but it's not among my favorites either. Of his 80s work, the only song I could even think of that might have been in consideration was "My Hometown," but even that didn't take much or me to cut. (And yes, all you Brucenites, I know that "Hometown" is one example of how he 'speaks for blue-collar America,' and since I am so staunchly in the corner of the working class vs. the elite, I should love Bruce as one of my own... just let it go. The harder you argue, the less chance you give your boy.)
Anyway... those are a few 80s notables you didn't see on this list. Sorry if one or more of your favorites didn't make my list of top 134 songs; like I said at the beginning, these are just my favorites, every list would be different, and I both understand and respect that. Make your own list, and I'll be more than happy to watch yours counting down and respectfully offer comments and observations. My list isn't superior, it's just mine is all.)
So who's left? Who did make it -- and not just make it, but make it all the way to #1???
Posted by Christopher at 07:07 AM | Comments (3)
